


Welcome To The 100th Annual Hunger Games

by marshmallowmischief



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Food mention, Hunger Games AU, Nightmares, Swearing, TS HG AU, Thomas Sanders Hunger Games AU, blood mention, cursing, sanders sides au, weapon mentions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:14:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21876343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marshmallowmischief/pseuds/marshmallowmischief
Summary: It’s been over 20 years since the Capitol crushed the rebellion started by Katniss Everdeen. The Hunger Games are more popular than ever, and the Districts are more oppressed than ever. This year is the Quarter Quell, and the twist is that all 24 tributes will be boys. Follow Logan, Roman, Patton, and Virgil as they try to navigate the deadly world of the Capitol and its twisted Games.
Comments: 10
Kudos: 29





	1. The Reaping

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story isn't getting any traction on tumblr, so i figured i'd post it here and see what happens. hope you like it!

**District Three - Technology**

“Logan Crofter! Come on up, sweetheart!” Rang that Capitol accent he despised so much. Logan’s world stopped for a second, a moment frozen in time for what seemed like ages to the boy. The odds were in his favor. He avoided putting his name in extra times for commodities. He was young- young enough that his name was only in the ridiculous large glass bowl three times.

He was only fourteen.

This wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

There were hundreds of names in that bowl, and they chose his. He blinked in astonishment. He’d never even considered that he’d be chosen. That he’d be a tribute.

He wasn’t built for the Games. He was tall for his age, lanky, nothing but hypothetical skin and bones. There was no chance of him surviving a physical altercation. He was both literally and figuratively doomed. He knew death came for everyone eventually, but he couldn’t comprehend meeting his own demise. The thought of his consciousness coming to an end sent him into an existential crisis. 

“Logan? Sweetie?” The Capitol woman called out his name once more. 

The crowd of kids stepped away from Logan as if he were contagious, forming a circle around him as he made his way through the crowd. He swallowed thickly and straightened his navy tie, correcting his posture and holding his head high.

The Capitol would not make a fool of Logan Crofter. They wanted him to be hysterical, to cry, to run- Logan would do none of these things. He would go with dignity and respect. He would die as he lived (‘Die? Yes, I suppose I will, now…’). As he ascended the stairs to the stage, he felt his heart shatter as he heard his mother’s cries.

‘I will not cry. They will not break me.’ 

**District Nine - Grain**

“Cole Warren!”

“I volunteer!” Roman shouted, locking eyes with his longtime friend whose name had just been called. The blonde walked over and gave him a tight hug before marching bravely to the reaping stage.

“My, my! A volunteer! What is your name, child?” The over excited host cooed.

“Roman. Roman Prince.”

“And how old are you, Roman?”

“Seventeen.”

“Well, how about some applause for this brave soul, hm?” The crowd clapped weakly, none in the crowd willing to meet the gaze of the newest tribute.

“Was that your brother you volunteered for? A cousin, perhaps?”

“No, he’s my- my friend. My best friend.”

“Well, well! By the looks of it, you two are a little more than friends, yes?”

Roman remained silent, but the deep blush on his pale cheeks said everything the cameras needed to know.

“Well, there you have it, folks! The tributes of District Nine!” The host gestured for them to shake hands. Roman turned and faced his new opponent. He wasn’t sure of the kid’s name, but he knew enough: this was the enemy. If Roman wanted to see Cole again, this nameless boy would have to die.

**District Eleven - Agriculture**

Patton Candor was not ashamed to admit that he cried before, during, and after every Reaping. He mourned the loss of each and every tribute before they were even gone. It was safe to say he had a big heart that was overly empathetic. The loss of brilliant life was too much for him to handle some days. 

But the day they called him to the stage, not a tear was shed. He did not mourn the potential loss of his own life. He had nothing to lose, unlike most tributes. His parents were gone, his friends abandoned him, and his life was not necessarily worth living at the ripe age of just thirteen.

Nothing was keeping Patton tied down to life except for birdsong and sunshine.

He shuffled to the stage, shook hands with the other boy, and made his way inside the old government building. No one came to see him before he got on the train, but he didn’t feel bitter. He’d never given anyone a reason to care for him, so he wasn’t surprised when no one showed. He sang softly to himself and twiddled his thumbs as he waited for the Peacekeepers to transfer him.

As he boarded the train, he took one last look upon the open expanse of his home district.

‘Goodbye, I suppose. Mom, Dad? I’m on my way.’ 

**District Twelve - Medicine**

Virgil sat in the courthouse’s finest room. He couldn’t help but laugh at that.

‘Nothing but the best for the poor bastards of District Twelve…’ 

Virgil Shae always knew his name would be drawn, not unlike a lamb chosen for slaughter. That was just his luck. It was something he’d prepared for the same way his senile neighbor prepared for a third rebellion. (It was ludicrous to think about and taboo to speak of, so Virgil just shook his head and moved on when the old man began his ramblings).

The sixteen-year-old spent every spare moment preparing for a life in the Games, even though it was technically illegal to do so. He analyzed plants in textbooks from school, learned how to set traps and gut fish in the meadow, and even learned how to purify water without chemicals from the black market.

He wasn’t confident he’d win, but he wouldn’t go down without a decent fight. He’d been watching the Hunger Games every year for as long as he could remember. He’d gone as far as to take notes on what makes a Victor.

Stay away from the Cornucopia. Find water. Hunt. Climb. Avoid. Run.

Oh, running. The one thing Virgil was confident about. He’d joined his school’s competitive racing team in anticipation of his Reaping. He was the fastest kid in his age group and could even outrun the elder students if he pushed himself.

There was a knock at the door and he looked up in surprise.

“Uh, hey.” A familiar face made his way in the room. Thomas Sanders. District Twelve’s only living Victor. “I know we’re going to meet on the train, but I didn’t want you sitting alone. I remember how scary it is.”

Virgil shrugged and scooted over on the couch, making room for the elder male. The two sat in comfortable silence for the allotted time. When the Peacekeeper called time, the two stood together, avoiding eye contact as they exited the room.

Virgil didn’t look back at his drab district as he boarded the train. He ignored the crowd of District Twelve elites who came to see him ushered away to his demise. He wished he was allowed his special zip-up hoodie, but you were supposed to dress nice for Reaping Day, and nice and expensive are not synonyms in the Seam where everything costs more than it’s worth.

He took a seat and sighed heavily. The weight of the day was finally getting to him. Exhaustion quickly overtook him, the smooth train ride lulling him to sleep.


	2. The Train

**Logan**

Logan was sitting at the dining table scarfing down Capitol delicacies. He figured that if he was going to die, he might as well put on a few pounds. He was small for his age (but then again, in the poor districts, who wasn’t?), having a long, lanky build and no real meat on his bones. Those of the technology district didn’t have much use for exercise, so it was typical for their tributes to be brittle.

His meal was interrupted by the whoosh of the door opening. He looked up to see his mentor, Emile Picani. Emile was a tall man, like most men of District Three. He was known for being the first tribute in decades to win completely passively and without a real drop of blood on his hands. Logan admired his ingenuity and intelligence and even considered Emile to be a role model of sorts.

Now, he was his mentor and would be responsible for getting Logan sponsors in the Games. This man had Logan’s life in his hands.

“Hello, Logan!” Emile chirped. “You were fantastic at your reaping! You’ll be the first tribute of mine not to cry! Isn’t that something?”

“Indeed..” Logan frowned. Emile always looked so regal on stage, but here, in person, the man was energetic to say the least.

“Aren’t you just so happy to be chosen! You get to experience all the wonders the Capitol has to offer! The food, the fashion, the television- The cartoons! Oh, they’re absolutely exquisite!” Emile clapped his hands excitedly. “You can only see them in the Capitol as a tribute, which makes this time of year extra special, don’t you think? Oh, and when you become a Victor, they’ll give you whatever television you want to watch! Isn’t that something?”

Logan winced. He had a feeling he was going to hear “isn’t that something” more often than he’d like. He turned back to his food, tuning out Emile’s goings-ons about how amazing the Capitol would be. Instead, he tried to focus on the flavor of the stew and the fresh bread rather than the thought of his imminent death.

After a half hour of gushing about the city, Emile's rant reached the Games.

“-but the Games… Well, it’s hard to cope with, for sure, but it’s something that all Victors come to terms with eventually.”

“Speaking of the Games, where is the other tribute?” Logan asked.

“He’s… not taking it well. He’s convinced he’s going to die, poor thing.” Emile shook his head.

“Well, he has every right to cry, in my opinion. Statistically, younger tributes are more likely to be killed. We’re both at a disadvantage. We’re not Careers. We’re small technology students. We don’t even have physical education in our schools.” Logan stated matter of factly.

“Well, that’s true, but why lose hope? It’s what got me through my Games, after all!”

“What got you through your Games was piggybacking off the success of a Career and mercy killing your injured best friend.” Logan sipped his tea, ignoring the shocked and hurt look on Emile’s face. “So, as our mentor, you’re supposed to give us advice. What is your advice?”

“I- Training. Focus on unconventional skills. Standing out from the crowd will get you sponsors.” Emile said with wide eyes. 

“And how do you propose I do that? I won’t be able to develop any new weapons skills in the three allotted days.”

“Find something you’re already good at and build on it!” Emile perked up, excited once more.

“Something I’m already good at…” Logan thought for a moment before a wicked smile worked its way onto his face. “I have a plan.”

**Roman**

Roman sat next to his fellow tribute, waiting for his mentor to come and give him instructions. He nibbled on a fresh roll with something called cinnamon on it as he waited in silence. The unknown boy had tried to make conversation, but Roman wasn’t having any of it. All he could think about was Cole, the boy he’d volunteered for.

The boy of his dreams.

The boy who didn’t come to see him before he was shipped off like the cattle his district raised.

Roman stood after a while, frustrated with his mentor’s tardiness when the doors finally slid open to reveal the Victor of the previous Games.

Remington Chase, Capitol sweetheart. Although Roman never understood why, Remy was incredibly popular with the people for his self proclaimed “don’t give a fuck” attitude. He swore on television, giving the censors a run for their money, and actively flipped off the camera during his Games. He never said anything blasphemous against the Capitol, so he was allowed to win. He was only seventeen, having become a Victor the year before.

“Alright, bitches, let’s see what we’re working with here.” Remy motioned for both boys to stand. “Okay, okay, not too shabby. Give us a spin, girl, don’t be shy!”

The other tribute scowled as if the act were below him, but Roman did as he was told, practically pirouetting before his mentor.

“See that? That’s the attitude of a winner. You can’t have pride or dignity in this competition, kid.” Remy scolded as the stranger huffed and stormed off. “Eh, to hell with him. He’s just pissy he got chosen. Sucks to suck, eh?”

“Y-yeah…”

“But lookit you! A fucking volunteer in District Nine! Good on you, honey! Way to stand out! Now, I’m gonna share with you a little secret.”

“What’s that?”

“No one fucking cares unless you make a statement. Just volunteering isn’t going to get you anywhere. You need pizzazz! Sponsors! Ya gotta make a splash if you wanna survive, sister.” Remy flopped down at the table and began spooning an odd looking green stew into a bowl.

“So, become a celebrity?”

“Become a personality, sweetheart.”

“How do I do that?”

“Well, you watched my Games, my interviews. Take some notes, kid, it might save your life.” Remy eyed Roman once more, taking in his handsome features. “You’ve got a strong chin, a handsome jawline, and big muscles. I’d say go for the charming farm boy schtick. You’re just a young man from the backwoods district who volunteered out of love. That’s your angle. Got it?”

“I can be charming,” Roman gave Remy a dazzling smile, to which his mentor hummed in thought. Roman paused for a moment, then added with a wink, “I’ll win all the Capitol boys over, don’t you worry.”

“That’s the spirit. You’re on the right track.”

**Patton**

Patton sat for ages waiting for his mentor to come and see him. He’d waited so long the other tribute had given up and gone to his room, leaving Patton to his thoughts. He was elated by the spread of food throughout the dining car. He busied himself by putting small samples of everything on his plate. He even got to taste fresh bread with real butter, a delicacy reserved only for the elite (and tributes, apparently). 

Minutes before the train was due to reach the Capitol, Patton’s mentor stumbled into the room. He tripped and would have fallen on his face if it weren’t for Patton’s quick reflexes.

“Woah! Steady there!” Patton helped the man up and into a seat. It took Patton a moment to remember his name. Dee, that was it. Dee Hart. He was the Victor seven years ago and infamous for being awful with sponsors.

“Get offa me,” the man grumbled, weakly shoving Patton away. The boy frowned as the sharp smell of booze hit his nose. Alcohol was illegal throughout most of District Eleven, so he must have spent his entire afternoon getting smashed.

“C’mon, try some fresh bread. It’ll soak up all the ick in your tummy,” Patton handed him a miniature loaf of bread, which he gobbled up greedily.

“You’re a sweet kid…” Dee mumbled. “Sorry ‘m your mentor…”

“I’m not sorry at all! I’m sure you’re lovely when you’re sober.” Patton said, earning him a laugh from the twenty-something.

“Sure, sure, I’m a ray of fuckin’ sunshine,” he chuckled.

“So… what do we do now? Aren’t you s’posed to give me advice or somethin’?”

“Uh, yeah, you want advice? How about this,” he leaned in so Patton could smell the bread on his breath. “If they can’t catchya, they can’t kill ya.”

“Oh…”

“Looks like we’re here,” Dee grunted, getting up from his seat. “I need coffee. Be a doll, wouldya?”

Patton scrambled to get a cup of coffee for his mentor. After scalding his fingers gripping the piping hot kettle, he carefully poured, sugared, and served the bitter drink.

“Sorry if it’s no good. We don’t have coffee back home-”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m aware.” Dee sipped the hot beverage as he watched the Capitol come into view. There was an enormous crowd gathered at the station waiting to get a glimpse of the new tributes. Dee sighed as Patton ran to the window and waved to the strangely dressed people of the city.

‘Poor kid’s got no chance,’ he thought. He pulled Patton away from the window mid-wave and sat him down. He looked him over, studying his facial features and demeanor.

“You could pull the cute kid card for sure if it would work on these Capitol scumbags…” he muttered to himself. “That kind of crap only works with the Districts. We need to figure out your thing, and fast.”

“My thing?”

“Yeah, what makes you stand out, personality-wise.”

“Gee, I dunno Dee,” Patton frowned. He’d never really thought about his personality before. He was just him, plain and simple. “I like to help people?”

“Can you make allies?”

“Like, in the Games?”

“No, in the schoolyard. Yes, in the Games!”

“I think so! I like to make friends!” Patton beamed.

“God, you’re too precious for words…” Dee sighed again. “We’ll go from that angle, I guess. It rarely works, but maybe, just maybe we can make this work. I might be able to get you out of there alive…”

**Virgil**

An hour later Virgil sat on the train with his mentor and the other tribute, who he’d dubbed Ginger for his shining red hair.

“So, what now?” Ginger asked nervously. The boy was shaking like a leaf and his eyes were darting this way and that searching for some unseen threat. “Do we- do we study- or do you tell us what to do- How does this work?”

“Well, traditionally, I give you pointers on the ride there, but since both of you slept through most of the train ride, you’re gonna get the watered-down version: Take everything you know from what you see on television and throw it out the window.”

Virgil frowned. He’d spent years watching the Games, studying them, committing them to memory. Was it all a waste?

“We’re gonna do this my way. This year will be different. It has to be.” A haunted look took over Thomas’ eyes. Virgil could see the weight that years of sending children to slaughter have had on him. The boy could only imagine the grief that the man had to experience every year, knowing how rare it was for outlier district tributes to become Victors (considering that Thomas himself happened to be the first Victor from District Twelve in over twenty years).

“How are we gonna win, then?” Ginger asked. 

“First, tell me what you’re good at. What skills do you have already?” Thomas ran a hand through his hair. 

“I can run, I can fish, and I know a lot of plants. I earn extra money as a healer on the weekends. I know it’s not much, but it’s all I was able to learn.” Virgil answered, while Ginger just shrugged.

“You don’t know anything that will help you in the arena?” Thomas frowned at the boy.

“I’m the fastest kid in my grade, but that’s about it.” Ginger replied.

“Here’s what I want you to do: learn something, anything new. Learn to build a fire without coal. Learn what insects are edible and what tree bark you can eat. These little things can be a matter of life and death.” Thomas leaned back in his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. “For you, we’re going to focus on survival skills. Virgil, I want you to focus on throwing knives. They’re the easiest to come by in the arena. You learn those, you’re golden.”

Virgil thought about it for a moment. He had plenty of practice with blades back home, but he’d never tried throwing one. It sounded incredibly dangerous to him. But then again, he was about to enter a battle to the death, so maybe dangerous could be beneficial.

Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed as Thomas began explaining the inner workings of winning sponsors.

“Be charming, but not cocky. You’ve gotta win the audience,” Thomas said. Virgil leaned forward and let his head rest on the table. It was going to be a long week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was one of my favorite chapters to write! it was so fun getting to portray the different mentors


	3. The Stadium

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank y'all for the super sweet comments so far! i'm glad you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoy writing it c:

**Logan**

“Ooh, I’m so ready for your big debut!” Emile was practically jumping up and down with excitement. “The artists have done an amazing job with your makeup! You look like a real life robot! Just like in this one cartoon I saw on the way here-” 

Logan was quickly learning how to tune out Emile’s ramblings about cartoons while still participating in the conversation. There was a lot of nodding involved paired with the occasional face of agreement. As his mentor jabbered about nothing pertaining to the Games, Logan decided to assess the room. 

There was a line of chariots with horses at the head and tributes standing beside them with their mentors. Logan observed that none of the tributes seemed to be talking to each other, which he found odd. Normally, the victims of the Games would try to make alliances with one another in order to increase their chances of survival. That did not seem to be the case this year.

‘No friendships or alliances should make for an interesting year for the viewers, I suppose. Or perhaps the alliances have yet to begin.’ 

“Just look at yourself! Isn’t that somethin’?” Emile beamed, holding up a mirror to Logan’s face. Logan examined the elaborate makeup decorating his sharp features. The deep gray face paint had shiny blue undertones, making him shimmer in the slightest light. There were small black dots and lines across his face to represent rivets and metal plates. The dark clothes they arranged for him absorbed all light, forcing attention to his face. He also wore contacts that hid his sapphire eyes under a layer of black. 

A bell sounded, signalling the tributes to mount their chariots. Logan took a deep breath and stepped forward, nodding at his fellow district tribute out of solidarity. The curtains drew back and the blinding light took over the room. The chariots moved forward one by one, showcasing the tributes to the world. 

**Roman**

“Remember,” Remy’s voice rang through Roman’s head as his chariot lurched forward. “You gotta put all the personality you can into that little wave. Give your prettiest grin, blow kisses to the Capitol freaks, whatever you gotta do, babes. It might save your ass later on.”

He smoothed the wrinkles out of his golden harvest god inspired costume and took a deep breath before putting on his most charming smile. He waved, he blew kisses, and he caught a brilliant red rose a young man in the front tossed to him. He placed the stem between his teeth, smiling all the while. The other tribute whose name he still couldn’t remember scoffed, rolling his eyes at Roman’s display. 

Roman didn’t care in the least. He was willing to do whatever he saw necessary to see Cole again. 

He closed his eyes for a brief moment and allowed himself to imagine Cole back home. He imagined soft sandy blond hair draped over bright baby blue eyes. He wondered how his crush would feel seeing him on the television. Would he be heartbroken? Hopeful? Or would he feel disgust towards Roman for developing a crush on him and (albeit unintentionally) broadcasting it to the entirety of Panem? 

He snapped his brown eyes back open to catch another flower, this time tucking it behind his ear. He chased away all thoughts of Cole and focused on the task at hand. 

Step one, win over the crowd. That was doable. He decided that for now he would only worry about what was right in front of him. And in this case, that was the people of the Capitol.

**Patton**

Patton waved excitedly at the strange looking people in the crowd. He was elated to see something that wasn’t the boring old fields back in District Eleven. He was especially enamoured with his themed costume. He wore a beautiful baby blue dress with a sunflower pattern paired with a flower crown that was made of flowers he’d never seen before. He thought the bright colors were gorgeous, and he hoped he could wear more beautiful clothes during his stay in the Capitol. 

He recalled his conversation with Dee. His instructions were to be in awe, to be as cute as possible, but to also be invulnerable and untouchable.

“Gush about the Capitol,” Dee said. “But don’t let them see that you’re helpless. You’re fierce, maybe even feral. As far as they know, you were born for this.”

“But how can I be gushy and strong at the same time?” Patton asked his mentor. 

“Act confident, even if you don’t feel like it. Fake it ‘til you make it, kid. I’ll get ya some sponsors, don’t you worry. I’ve got your back.” 

Patton blinked a few times, returning to the present as his chariot came to a stop and the President began the tributes welcome speech. He saw himself on the screens high above the stadium and beamed. He couldn’t remember a time where he looked so happy. The thought crossed his mind that this wouldn’t last long, but he brushed it off. There would be time to wallow in self pity later on. Right now, he wanted to ride the high for as long as possible. It wouldn’t last forever, and he knew it would probably be the last moment of joy in his life.

**Virgil**

Virgil didn’t get much of a chance to examine his costume before he was shoved into the chariot and carted off towards the screaming crowd. Following the advice of Thomas, he tried to act as though he was above them all. He was indifferent, cold, a true killer at heart. At least, that’s what he was going for. 

Virgil and Ginger were decked out in all white doctor’s outfits, symbolizing the medicine that District Twelve recently began to manufacture. The makeup artist wanted to splatter red across their clean white coats, but Virgil was adamant against it. 

He would see enough blood in the arena.

Virgil let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding when the chariot came to a slow stop. He listened to the Lady President’s speech with a bored expression. He’d heard this villain’s monologue a million times before as he was studying past Games, and he was sure if he survived he would hear it a million more. When she was finished, the horses pulled the tributes back the way they came in a precise line. 

Virgil stumbled out of the cart as soon as the curtains closed behind him. His eyes searched frantically for Thomas. His breathing picked up and his chest felt tight as he stumbled through the room. He bumped into a tribute he didn’t recognize. 

“Sorry-” He muttered to the boy in the blue sundress. 

“Oh, it’s no problem! Are you alright there, friend?” The small teen steadied Virgil gently. “Do you need a medic?” 

Something about the child’s demeanor instantly calmed Virgil. The tiny boy had an aura about him that radiated safety and comfort. His breathing slowed and he found himself able to stand up straight. 

“I’m alright now, thanks, uh…”

“Patton!”

“Virgil… Anyway, thanks Patton. I guess I’ll see you at training?” 

“Sure thing, pal! I’m looking forward to it!” Patton shot the brunet a large grin, earning a smile from Virgil. Suddenly the idea of losing the Games didn’t seem so bad.


	4. The Training Room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at long last, the core four meet up!

**Virgil**

Virgil swallowed hard as the instructor read off the rules of training. This was the side of the Hunger Games no one was allowed to see, and the thought of going into something blind made him want to bite at his freshly manicured nails. His grey eyes flickered from tribute to tribute to size up the competition. The Career tributes were broad shouldered and muscular to the point of looking ridiculous to Virgil. He analyzed the smaller tributes, trying to recall their names.

"Don't underestimate the little guys," the voice of his mentor reminded him. "They'll always surprise you."

Virgil contemplated the advice as he looked to the youngest in the room. Patton. The chipper boy whose bright smile was practically blinding. To say the boy was little would be an understatement. He looked as if he were no more than eleven years old, with dimples on his cheeks and freckles galore. His light brown hair was wild and curly, only adding to his baby faced charm. Virgil could tangibly feel the instinct to protect this child from harm at all costs.

When they were dismissed, Virgil followed Patton to the plant identification station. He sat on the floor next to his fellow tribute and gave him a tentative smile.

"Virgil! It's so good to see you!" Patton beamed, pulling Virgil into a quick hug. "Are ya feelin' better today, pal?"

"Yeah, I guesso." Virgil blinked a few times before returning the hug. 

"Well, whataya say we learn about some plants?" 

"Eh, there's nothing here they could really teach me."

"You must be really smart!" Patton's baby blue eyes widened in awe at his new friend.

"Not really..." Virgil said, his cheeks warming with blood rush. He was about to play it off with a self deprecating comment, but was interrupted by a commotion on the other side of the training room. He had to choke down a laugh as the handsome boy from District Nine let out a string of incredibly creative insults at Ginger. A guard separated the two boys, sending Ginger to the axe station and farm boy (_Reagan? Rylon?'_) in the direction of the plant station. The boy grumbled the entire way, flopping down onto the floor indignantly. He stuck out his bottom lip, earning a full bellied laugh from Virgil.

"What's so funny?" The newcomer asked.

"You're in a kill or be killed competition, and you're pouting!" Virgil exclaimed.

"You're Roman, right? Roman King?" Patton scooted closer to the stranger, eager to make a new friend.

"It's Prince, actually. I won't be a king until I win." Roman winked.

"Woah," Patton was wide eyed once more. Virgil wanted to warn Patton against talking to Roman ('What if he targets us in the arena? Wait, since when is there an us?'), but he was interrupted by another tribute approaching the plant station.

"Hello. I wish to acquire more knowledge about Panem's flora."

"Hello!" Patton waved excitedly. "You're the kid with the tie!"

"Er, yes. I am indeed the... 'kid' with the tie. My name is Logan."

"Hi, Logan! I'm Patton!"

"I'm aware of all your names." Logan cleared his throat before sitting on the floor, completing the circle. "So, are we learning about plant life, or are we conversing?"

"I don't know, I just got here." Roman scooted so he could lean against a pillar. "I could care less about plants, honestly."

"The correct usage of that phrase is 'I could not care less', and I believe that every element of training is going to be essential in the arena," Logan corrected.

"Like I said earlier, I already know all the things," Virgil said. "I'm supposed to focus on throwing knives today."

"Roman, do you have any skills that could be useful to our predicament?" Logan asked.

"I'm rather strong, I suppose. I hadn't really thought about it."

"And you, Patton?"

"I can climb good! Watch!" Patton grinned. He stood and walked to the pillar Roman was leaning against. He wrapped his arms around it and began to shimmy up quicker than any squirrel. He tapped the ceiling with his index finger before sliding back down to the floor and sitting back down.

"Hmm..." Logan contemplated the information about his fellow tributes before speaking up. "I believe we have the perfect opportunity to form a strong alliance."

"What?" Virgil balked.

"What I'm saying is we each have something that is useful to the others." Logan whispered, as if afraid someone would overhear. "An alliance between the four of us would be most beneficial."

"To you, maybe."

"And to you as well," Logan continued. "I'm from District Three. I've been raised with forethought and ingenuity. Would that not be useful to you in these Games?"

"I think you're right!" Patton said excitedly. He flapped his hands happily as he turned to Virgil. "He wears a neck tie! We have to trust him!"

"Lots of people wear neck ties, Pat." Virgil frowned.

"Serious people!" Patton insisted.

"Alright," Virgil sighed and rubbed his temples. "What about you, Princey? You in or what?"

"I suppose it would be in my best interest to surround myself with nerds who know things," he shrugged. "I'm in."

"Excellent!" Logan stood, motioning for the others to follow suit. "For the next three days of training, we need to hone our skills. Patton, you're in charge of learning snares and other traps. It will be vital that we are able to catch our own food and avoid relying on the Cornucopia. Virgil, I overheard that your mentor wants you to focus on knives. Do that. Roman, I want you to learn hand to hand combat. Between the four of us, we'll be unstoppable!"

Virgil quirked a brow. For someone who was initially so stoic and formal, he seemed rather excited for this alliance. He didn't question it, though. Something deep down in his gut told him that Logan was trustworthy, and Virgil learned long ago to trust his instincts.  
It's what prepared him for the Reaping, after all.


	5. The Interviews

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm especially proud of this chapter :)

**Roman**

The training days passed absurdly fast for the tributes. Roman didn’t care much for learning, but he had to admit that he could use more practice in basically every category. He discovered he actually had fun in hand to hand combat. He couldn’t wait to prove himself as a worthy opponent to the more stuck up tributes. However, one thing stood between him and sweet victory. 

The interviews.

The interviews were conducted by an aging Caesar Flickerman. The man simply refused to retire, and seemingly refused to die as well. Roman never paid much attention to the interview portion of the Games before, much to the distaste of Remy. 

“What do you mean you’ve never seen an interview?” Remy asked. “They’re literally mandatory viewing, babes.” 

“I just kind of… zoned out?”

“Well, this is just unacceptable.” Remy took a loud sip of his coffee. “We need to get you camera ready.” 

“I thought we already figured out my schtick,” Roman said. “Be confident, but not an asshole. Win over the hearts of the boys in the crowd, win sponsors. Done deal, right?” 

“Ding, dong, you are wrong. You’re gonna have to be ready for any question. Those freaks want to know your deepest darkest secrets, sweetie, and you’re gonna have to tell them.” 

“Can’t I lie?” 

“Depends on if you’re shit at it or not.” 

“I can lie if I want to!” 

“I don’t think you’re smart enough, honestly.” 

“Ugh!” Roman stomped his foot. “I am too smart!” 

“Riiiight,” Remy raised a brow. “So what is your relationship with that boy back home?” 

“He’s my best friend,” Roman lied. 

“Uh huh, sure. So, you don’t like him or anything?” 

“Nope.” 

“Your face is far too expressive. You’re giving yourself away.” 

“Well, what do you want me to do, Remy? I can’t lie, but I don’t want to spill my secrets to all of Panem!” Roman threw his hands in the air. 

“I want you to distract them. You got any talents?” 

Before he could answer, the stylist team arrived and rushed Roman to his room to be prepped for the interview. Roman let them chatter around him, not even trying to contribute to the conversation. They painted his eyelids with red and gold glitter, and light pink stain on his lips. After makeup, they slipped him into white outfit with a red sash straight from a fairytale. 

When they were finished with him, he was rushed to the elevator and escorted to the backstage area of Caesar’s stage. The tributes were prohibited from stepping out of order, so the most he could do was give Patton a confident smile from afar. Roman was certain that the other three would fail to bring in sponsors, since they were unbearably bland in the personality department, so he considered it his duty to do his absolute best during the interviews. 

‘I will do my best. For Patt- I mean, Cole. For Cole.’

The security guard signaled for the tributes to begin their ascent onto the stage. They marched single file up the stairs and to their seats. The chairs were arranged in a half moon around center stage, where Caesar himself stood donning his bright green suit and matching lime colored hair. Roman found himself fascinated by the lack of age on the elderly man. He didn’t look a day over sixty, though everyone knew he was much, much older. 

The tributes were called down one by one for their three minute interviews. The only one Roman deemed worthy of his attention was Logan, who was curt and precise with his answers. Roman was going over his interview plan in his head when suddenly it was his name being called.

“And now for our handsome devil from District Nine, Roman Prince!” Caesar said, spinning around to greet Roman. The crowd clapped politely as he made his way to the interview chair. “How are you, my boy?” 

“I would like to say I’ve been better, Caesar, but honestly? The Capitol has been exquisite so far.” Roman put on his brightest smile as he shook hands with the television host before taking a seat. “And how are you?”

“Why, I’m wonderful! It’s always so exciting to meet a new batch of tributes! Amiright folks?” Caesar cheered, amping up the crowd. “Small talk aside, let’s talk, Roman. What’s it like going from District Nine zero to Capitol hero?” 

“Hero, huh? Well, I certainly look the part tonight, do I not?” Roman stood and gestured to his outfit, earning a few whistles from the audience. “It’s an outfit fit for royalty, truly.” 

“Yes, yes, it is rather lovely.” Caesar said. “So, there have been many theories going around the Capitol about your Reaping. Care to talk about it?” 

“I’m an open book.” 

“Well, it’s been said that your moment of triumph, your volunteering, was actually done in the heat of the moment out of lov-” 

“I”m so so sorry to interrupt, Caesar, but I only have three minutes and I have a gift for our audience.” Roman interrupted frantically. He could see Remy in the front row looking like he was on the verge of panicking. “I’ve been practicing and I’d hate for it to go to waste.” 

“By all means, go right ahead!” 

Roman cleared his throat and began to sing. Despite his nerves, he found his voice to be strong and clear. The crowd fell silent as if entranced with siren song. 

“You are my sunshine

My only sunshine 

You make me happy 

When skies are grey 

You’ll never know, dear 

How much I love you 

Please don’t take my sunshine away

The other night, dear 

As I lay sleeping 

I dreamed I held you in my arms 

When I awoke, dear 

I was mistaken 

Please don’t take my sunshine away”

Caesar wiped an imaginary tear from his eye as he and the crowd gave Roman a standing ovation. Roman held his breath, only exhaling when the buzzer went off. He shook the hosts hand once more before moving back to his seat in a daze. As the interviews continued he caught Remy’s eye for a moment. Remy gave a single nod and a half smile, and Roman could feel his heart rate decline. 

He relaxed in his chair and watched the rest of the interviews in a daze, only perking up to listen to Patton and Virgil. When they were dismissed from the stage, Roman found himself in the elevator with Remy. 

“Nice distraction. Panem’s gonna love you.” Remy smiled sincerely for the first time since they met. “Maybe the Capitol will have a new darling, and they can stop obsessing over my dumb ass.” 

“Heh, maybe.” Roman pondered what that would be like for a moment before deciding that he wouldn’t mind a life under the spotlight. 

That is, if he even survived the next twenty four hours.


	6. The Rooftop

**Patton**

It was cold and windy on the roof of the tribute building. Patton scolded himself for forgetting a jacket. He wondered what everyone was doing back in his District. It was the warm season down south, so surely they were out tilling soil. He sighed and turned to leave but bumped into someone. 

“Oop, sorry there bud!” Patton patted the chest of the unknown tribute. “I was just leaving.” 

“No need to leave. I simply wanted fresh air.” Logan smiled awkwardly. “I’ve found that the night before the games comes with a strong dose of anxiety.” 

“Tell me about it,” Virgil stepped onto the roof with Roman behind him. “You guys can’t sleep either?” 

“No, it seems on the most important night of our lives we’ve all been struck with insomnia.” Logan mused. 

“Well, why don’t we talk to calm our nerves! Get to know each other a bit, yknow?” Patton clapped his hands. “Logan, you go first!” 

“Me? Well, I grew up in District Three. I was focusing on my general education before my Reaping.” 

“Okay, but what do you do in your free time?” Patton motioned for everyone to sit with their back against the ledge. “What makes you happy, Lo?” 

“The stars.” He looked up at the starless sky with a fond smile. “Back home, when I wasn’t in school, I charted the stars and the planets. They only briefly mention it in our textbooks, but our universe is so incredibly vast. If I win the Games, I’m going to dedicate my life to studying the cosmos. It’s just… fascinating.” 

His gaze returned to Patton, who was staring up at him in awe. He cleared his throat and gestured for Roman to speak next. 

“My District is a lot like yours, Patton. No school during harvest season. I don’t mind it, though. I’ve never been good with learning. I’m better with hands on things.” Roman ran a hand through his hair. “When I win the games, I won’t have to go to school anymore, or harvest grain, or anything! I’ll be free to live my own life! Maybe I’ll write a book-” 

“I thought you just said you were bad in school,” Virgil said.

“Well, words are one thing. Learning numbers is another.” Roman shrugged. 

“There is a form of math that incorporates letters and numbers. It’s called algebra.” Logan pointed out. 

“Ew,” Roman scoffed. “I hate it already. But when I win, I’ll be so rich I can hire some nerd like you to do all that for me!” 

Patton giggled. He liked seeing his new friends getting along. He leaned around Logan to look at Virgil. “Your turn!” 

“Well, uh,” Virgil hesitated. “I spent all my free time at home preparing for the Games. I didn’t really have hobbies or goals. My whole life has been centered around dying.”

“Well, that’s no fun.” Patton frowned. 

“Yeah, well, life isn’t fun.” Virgil glared at the ground. After a moment his expression softened. “If I win, I’d like to start a garden. It’s silly, but it’s what I’m good at.”

“That sounds lovely, truly,” Logan tried to reassure his friend. “Well, how about you, Patton? What are your aspirations for the future?” 

“Well, I don’t really have any exasperations,” Patton gave his friend a sweet smile. Logan raised a finger, ready to correct his incorrect vocabulary, but stopped when Patton resumed talking. “If I win, that means three of my closest friends have to die, and I’ll be just as lonely as before. So I’ve decided I’m not going to win.” 

The other three fell silent. They had all considered the possibility that they would die within the next few weeks, if not the next twenty-four hours, but Patton was the only one who was accepting of this fate. The way he spoke, he welcomed his end. He was completely sincere when he spoke about it, as if it were just another day for him. He was so nonchalant about death. 

“We’ll be there with you, Pat,” Virge spoke up. “We won’t give up on you.” 

“Of course not!” Roman exclaimed. “We can’t let this cute little puffball down!” 

“We will assist you in whatever ways we can, Patton.” Logan agreed. “Just ask us when you need something and we will help.” 

“You guys,” Patton's voice trembled. “No one has ever- No one cared enough to- Oof!” 

Virgil pulled Patton off the ground and into a tight hug. Roman stood and joined their hug. Logan looked away for a moment before rolling his eyes and also participating in the embrace. They stayed there like that until Patton let out a soft yawn. 

“Sounds like someone’s sleepy,” Roman chuckled. He gently broke up the group hug before leading Patton inside the building. The four rode the elevator together, first dropping off Virgil, then Patton. The small brunette stretched and yawned once more before shuffling to his room. He didn’t bother getting under the covers, instead falling face first into the pillows and drifting off soundly.

He dreamed of a lush green meadow that was full of wildflowers and surrounded by trees. A babbling stream cut the meadow in two halves. He noticed three figures sitting on the opposite side of the water.

“Logan! Roman! Virgil!” He beamed and raced through the water to meet them. They greeted him with bright smiles and warm hellos. He threw his arms around Virgil first, hugging the teen tight. 

His delight faded when he heard a chorus of wet coughing. He pulled back and saw red tinting Virgil’s lips. Patton looked to the others to find them in the same state. He backed away in horror. 

“What do I do? How do I help?” He cried. 

“You did this,” Roman rasped. “You killed us. You’re selfish, Patton.” 

“No, I didn’t want this! I don’t want this!” Hot tears streaked down Patton’s cheeks as he shot up in bed. He wiped at his tears as his mentor knocked on the door. 

“Rise and shine, kid,” Dee called. “Today’s the day.”


End file.
